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To read of my travels, you might get the impression that for most of the last three years, I've done nothing but prowl night markets and food stalls. True, a lot of great grilling takes place on Third World street corners, but you can also find some pretty amazing barbecue at luxury resorts. One such place is Amandari, a hotel built right into a rice paddy near the artist town of Ubud, Bali. Dinner began with a Balinese welcome dance performed by local children in gold-embroidered gowns. My wife, Barbara, and I dined at a table for two strewn with rose petals in an open pavilion facing a lily pond. A team of chefs cooked for us and us alone on portable grills over charcoal. The succession of dishes—grilled shrimp with fiery lemongrass _sambal_, Balinese grilled chicken, and whole grilled fish with kaffir lime leaves—revealed Balinese cooking in all its polymorphic glory. A profoundly complex cuisine only hinted at in the food at your typical street-corner stall.

_Tumis Sayur_
There are, I think, few things more purely satisfying than quickly stir-fried Asian greens. Indonesian cooks agree: Meals in the country are unthinkable without greens on the table. They're so popular that market vendors often sell as many as 15 different kinds, from the tender mustard shoots known as sayur sawi, similar to bok choi, to bitter young papaya leaves (daun papaya), which are stir-fried along with their small white flowers. On our shores, young, tender Asian greens with slender stems — such as water spinach, bok choi, baby bok choi, choi sum, and baby kai lan — work best for stir-frying. Chinese and Southeast Asian markets will likely carry at least two of these varieties at any given time; farmers' markets will have them stocked in the summer months (and year-round in places with temperate climates such as Southern California and Florida). Always buy unblemished greens that have no signs of yellowing, and cook them as soon as possible — they don't store well.

_Spekkuk Bumbu_
_**Editor's note:** This recipe is adapted from James Oseland's book_ Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore. _It was originally part of an article by Oseland on Indonesian cuisine._
This butter-rich spice cake flavored with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves is known as _spekkoek_ (the Dutch spelling) or _spekkuk._ It's an inheritance from Holland's four-century rule in Indonesia. This recipe was given to me by Mami, my friend in Bandung, Indonesia, who's an expert in all things sweet. Because butter is a rare commodity in Indonesia, especially outside of big cities, many cooks often substitute margarine for it. Mami wouldn't dream of doing that. "_Spekkuk_ is a special-occasion cake. It deserves a splurge," she says. She usually makes this cake when important guests come calling or for her _berbuka puasa_ (literally, opening the fast) feasts during Ramadan. Essentially a pound cake baked in a tube, or bundt, pan, it has a golden, faintly crisp exterior and a shamelessly rich, velvety interior. There are few things more satisfying than eating a warm slice of _spekkuk_ along with sweetened tea (the traditional accompaniment) or icy cold milk (my favorite accompaniment). If all of your ingredients are at room temperature, this cake is relatively easy to make—and immensely pleasurable, too. Once it starts baking, the spicy aroma will perfume not only your kitchen but also your entire home.
_Lapis legit_ (literally "layered stickiness") is a _spekkuk_ constructed of up to 25 thin layers, each no thicker than an eighth of an inch—the more the layers, the more grand the cake. It is made by spreading thin successive layers of batter, one layer at a time, and baking each new layer until it is cooked through. A fresh layer is spread on top, and the process is repeated until all of the batter is used up. Each layer needs about five to ten minutes of baking time. Some cooks alternate plain, white, spice-less batter with the golden-brown batter containing spices for a variegated effect. Other cooks only make _lapis legit_ with ten thicker layers, as opposed to 25\. Whatever the case, though _lapis legit_ is lovely to look at, it tastes no better than a single-layer _spekkuk,_ as it's made with the very same batter.

_Sambal Serai_
_**Editor's note:** This recipe is adapted from James Oseland's book_ Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore. _It originally accompanied [Javanese Chicken Curry](/recipes/food/views/237068) and [Beef Satay](/recipes/food/views/237069) and was part of an article by Oseland on Indonesian cuisine._
This gorgeous-tasting, easy-to-make raw sambal originated in Bali. Try to find the freshest, most flavorful lemongrass you can when making it—your best bet may be in deep summer at a farmers' market that serves a substantial Asian community, where you're likely to find impeccably fresh, organic lemongrass.

_Sate Sapi_
_**Editor's note:** This recipe is adapted from James Oseland's book_ Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore. _It was originally accompanied by [Lemongrass-Shallot Sambal](/recipes/food/views/237070) and was part of an article by Oseland on Indonesian cuisine._
There are few more dependable sounds in Indonesia than the rhythmic rat-a-tat-tat-tat of satay vendors who roam the streets and alleys of every town and village announcing their presence with a wooden stick rapped against their portable grills. When a customer approaches, the satay men set up their makeshift kitchens—a tiny grill, a basket containing the already skewered meat, a fan to breathe life into the fire—on the spot, grilling skewers of meat to order. The smoky-sweet aroma is irresistible, and, soon neighbors can't help but gather to order some for themselves.
This recipe is from Jimi, a West Javanese street vendor with a languid smile. Over the course of three hot nights back in the 1980s, on an extended stay in Bogor, West Java, I watched him grill petite skewers of this delicious satay as he made his rounds. Eventually I worked up the courage to ask him for his recipe, which he gladly shared. Ginger, coriander, and palm sugar (dark brown sugar can be substituted) are the keynote tastes. The tamarind in the marinade acts as a powerful tenderizer, making even very chewy meat tender, so it's important to use a somewhat toothsome piece of beef, such as flank steak or skirt steak. If you start with tender meat, the marinade is likely to make it mushy.
For a skewerless satay, try using this marinade for a whole piece of flank steak, then broil the meat as you would for London broil.

_Opor Ayam, Java, Indonesia
**Editor's note:** This recipe is adapted from James Oseland's book [](http://astore.amazon.com/epistore-20/detail/0393054772)_[Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore](http://astore.amazon.com/epistore-20/detail/0393054772). _It was originally accompanied by [Lemongrass-Scented Coconut Rice](/recipes/food/views/237067) and [Lemongrass-Shallot Sambal](/recipes/food/views/237070) and was part of an article by Oseland on Indonesian cuisine._
A gorgeous coconut-milk curry from Java, Indonesia, perfumed with lemongrass, ginger, cinnamon sticks, and ground coriander. It's one of the benchmark dishes by which Indonesian home cooks are judged. If a young cook's _opor ayam_ is as rich and delicate as it should be, she's well on her way to becoming skilled in the kitchen. The dish is a perfect showcase for a high-quality free-range chicken. A whole one, cut into small, bone-in serving pieces, will yield the best results, though whole chicken parts can be substituted without compromising the dish's taste.
Daun salam leaves, the dried seasoning herb prized in Indonesian cooking, helps give this dish its unique aroma. I've often seen bay leaves listed as a substitute for daun salam in recipe books. While bay leaves have an aggressively mentholated taste, daun salam are subtle, with a faintly foresty flavor. The only thing the two herbs share in common is that they are both green leaves that grow on trees. Omit daun salam leaves if you're unable to find them.

_Nasi Uduk, Java, Indonesia_
_**Editor's note:** This recipe is adapted from James Oseland's book [](http://astore.amazon.com/epistore-20/detail/0393054772)_[Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore](http://astore.amazon.com/epistore-20/detail/0393054772). _It originally accompanied [Javanese Chicken Curry](/recipes/food/views/237068) and was part of an article by Oseland on Indonesian cuisine._
Rice that's been cooked in coconut milk and seasoned with aromatics is a velvety-rich, alluring dish. It turns up in countless incarnations all over Indonesia. This is the Javanese version, which is flavored with lemongrass and daun salam leaves, the woodsy-tasting Indonesian herb. The aromatics are submerged in the rice as it cooks, infusing the cooking liquid—and, in turn, the rice—with their essences. The hint of lemongrass is appealing, while the topping of crisply fried shallots adds smoky succulence. Friends I've cooked this rice for have told me it's the best rice they had ever eaten. It pairs well with just about anything that plain rice is served with, including curries and stir-fries, though it's wonderful on its own, with a salad of baby lettuces. I prefer to eat _nasi uduk_ warm rather than hot — its flavors are more pronounced.
It's not advisable to halve this recipe: Using one cup of rice would mean that most of the aromatics would be sitting on top of the rice as it cooks rather than being submerged in it, resulting in a poorly flavored dish. Reheat the excellent leftovers in a warm oven. It's also not advisable to make this dish in a rice cooker, as the fats and proteins in the coconut milk and the high, continuous heat of a rice cooker's heat source can easily lead to the rice on the bottom layer sticking and burning.

Es alpukat, a surprisingly delicious and refreshing Indonesian coffee drink, gets its richness and body from avocado. In Indonesia, they often serve it over ice, but we prefer the ice blended right in, milkshake-style.

"Although I'm not usually a big fan of fish, I love the roasted salmon at the Saucebox here in Portland," writes Irin Haruchai of Portland, Oregon. "The sauce served with it is out of this world."
Spicy sauces with sweet-and-sour flavors are popular in Javanese food and, in this case, pair deliciously with salmon.